Re-Forged
by MadameHyde
Summary: When Vilkas sends the fiery Dragonborn, Tiberia Morwyn, out of the room in tears, he knows he's mucked up big time. And so begins the most tumultuous relationship of their lives. Oneshot.


**Hello everyone :) This wouldn't get out of my head the other day, and so I just **_**had **_**to write it down. **

**Minor Spoilers for Honor Among Thieves: The Unwilling Nightingale. Nothing too bad, though. **

**And for those of you that HAVE read the above, this is the Ty from her time in the Companions, which is why she may seem a little different from the Tiberia Morwyn who joined the Thieves Guild.**

**Onward.**

**-)**

They expected rage, cursing, spitting, threats in the Dunmeri style, fury, possible Thu'um, possible magic flung in all directions, and most definitely verbal abuse out of me, the Dragon of the North.

They got something quite different.

It was as though we were frozen in time after Vilkas' last comment. Farkas' silvery-grey eyes were as wide as though could possibly be (and I was frankly amazed they hadn't popped out of their sockets), Aela the Huntress' jaw was on her collarbone, and Kodlak had just stood with as much force as the old man could muster. Skjor had his hand clapped against his teeth, Athis was surreptitiously preparing to cast a major ward spell, Njada had stepped protectively in front of an appalled Ria, Vignar and Brill were caught in the midst of edging towards the door, and all eyes were on me and this large Nord who was too far into my personal space.

"How _dare _you," I attempted to growl, but it came out choked. Bloody beautiful, like I need the waterworks right now, in a room full of Companions. "How _dare _you insult me in this way?!" More cracking. I needed _out._

Vilkas' shoulders were shaking in a barely-contained rage, and he was sucking in agitated breaths between his teeth. "Vilkas," Athis called uneasily before the wolfman could reply, "that's quite possibly the most insulting thing you could say to a Dunmer…"

"Am I wrong?" Vilkas asked, the gravel in the rough cadence of his voice making the room jump.

"It matters not," Athis replied. "It is not said."

Vilkas spat his words between his teeth. "I think it does matter."

"And you _lie!" _I shouted, making the room jump for the second time in a few minutes. "You aren't what you say you are, _and you lie!"_

"That's quite enough…" Kodlak began, making his way over to the two of us.

Vilkas lowered him head until he could face my glare dead on, at my level. "Neither are you, oath-breaker. Who are you, Morwyn? Tell us truly, now."

I wasn't going to stand for this a moment longer. I tore out of Jorrvaskr, catching the beginning of Farkas admonishing his brother before the heavy wooden door slammed shut. I sprinted through the streets of Whiterun, my heart full to bursting with anger, sorrow, and—much as it pains me to admit it—even fear. Vilkas so much _bigger _than me; he could snap me in half with bare hands, if not cleave me apart completely with the Greatsword that was always strapped to his back. My own power, my own dual swords, seemed pitiful in comparison. This power the Nords say sleeps in me—Thu'um, they call it—doesn't even compare, not in my mind.

Then again, words can cut deeper than swords. He was right, damn him; Vilkas Jergenson was right. That's what stung worst. He'd called me oath-breaker to my face and I had no rebuttal that wasn't an outright lie. Athis was right, this simply wasn't done in Morrowind, but I was in Skyrim now, for better or for worse, and all bets were off.

I scrambled up the side of the Jarl's palace to sit on the roof. The closer I am to the sky, the clearer I tend to think—a useful tool for a hothead like me. Master Arngeir of the Greybeards thinks it has to do with my Dragons' Blood—_dovah _something… _dovahsiin, Dovahkiin… dovahsos!_ Aye, _dovahsos—_but he also thinks I'm blood of Talos Stormcrown, which, frankly is impossible. Not only am I of House Morwyn, I'm not even human.

The night was cold, the moons high and bright. Only once I was safely atop Dragonsreach did I break down and fully weep, my head resting against my knees, which I'd pulled up against my chest. My elven façade was cracking; I needed to build a new set of armor to withstand living in Skyrim. I needed to forge myself anew, and maybe one day I could call myself Tiberia again with the shame and guilt attached to that name. For the moment, however, I called myself Morwyn—my ancestral name, a shortening of Morrowind, and given to many a serving-girl in my family's ancestral home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large figure haul itself up and over the lip of the roof with a grunt. This wasn't uncommon; Farkas comes up here sometimes to make sure I'm still breathing. "Farkas," I said without looking up, "your brother is a s'wit."

"Aye," said a voice that most definitely didn't come from Farkas, "I get that a lot."

My head snapped up and locked gazed with the last person I wanted to see—Vilkas of the Companions. "Piss off!"

"Not that I don't deserve that," he adimtted, holding his hands up, palms out, "but Morwyn… I came to apologize."

I magicked a spell of flames into my hand, hoisting the spell up and over my head. "I said," I spat out between my teeth, "piss off. Don't you think you've done _enough?"_

What got to me was the big man hanging his head in actual shame. There was nothing forced or false about it. "Yes… I do apologize, sera."

I snorted derisively, any latent tears snuffed out as I began to re-forge my old façade. "The Nord brining himself so low as to speak Dunmeris? Oh _spare _me."

A silence passed between us then, thick and dark as ink.

"You're right," Vilkas admitted, still crouched just before the edge of the roof. "I hope you know that. I'm not what I say I am, not exactly. I because of that, I do lie. I can't help it, though, and I can't stop it. Please know that."

I let out a sigh, any remaining fury dissipating with the winds. "You're right, as well. I am an oath-breaker. That's why I'm here in Skyrim."

"I shouldn't've said it." Vilkas took a tentative step forward, still in a crouch to keep himself balance. "I know what oaths mean to the Elves."

I snorted again, derisively. "As do I, but it didn't stop me from breaking mine. Well, most of them."

Another step. "Do you mind if I ask what you did to bring you here?"

Another sigh, this one from me. "The short version, Nord, is that I cannot give what my mother asks of me. My sisters apparently can, but I can't." My voice broke on the last word.

"Then you're forged differently than your sisters," Vilkas offered up as an explanation, taking another step forward now. He wasn't so scared now, since I was hardly going to blast him off the roof with a spell when he came under the white flag. "I wouldn't say that's a bad thing, necessarily. I'm forged differently than Farkas, after all. And we're _twins."_

Why was he being so nice to me, all of a sudden? Vilkas Jergenson hated me all the way down to the pointed ears. "Are you drunk?" I asked.

Vilkas actually let out a scorn-less, barking laugh at that, and came to rest beside me at a respectable distance. "No, I'm not. Maybe I should've been to do this, but I'm not."

"So what got to you, then? You've never apologized in your _life, _particularly not to an _elf, _of all races."

"Farkas," he said bluntly, and we both had a good laugh at that one. The first one we'd ever shared, though it wouldn't be the last.

"You all right, whelp?" Vilkas asked after we'd caught our breath.

I let out a sigh, sending up frost in a nascent prayer to Azura. "I will be, thank you. You didn't need to come out here."

"Honor and family," he quoted Kodlak, "that's what it means to be a Companion, girl."

Girl. Not 'elf.' Not 'idiot.' Not 'icebrain.' And not 'pointy-eared nuisance.' This was good. This was a start.

"That's what it means to be of House Redoran, too," I commented absentmindedly.

"Then perhaps," Vilkas said with a small smile, "you're not so far removed from the rest of us as I thought."

"You wish." The rebuttal was out before I could stop it.

Vilkas cracked a real smile at that one. "You're learning from Torvar, I see. Good! I hope to one day insult you without getting my head bitten off."

I rolled my now-dry eyes. "Maybe you should just stop insulting people so much?"

Vilkas shook his head. "All the best relationships are built on insults, Morwyn. Especially ones Nords are involved in."

"Explains why you're all so damn warlike."

Another crooked grin from the dour twin. I could get used to this; it lit up his whole face, made him seem less like an arrogant piece of Skeever shit and more like a man. "You know Morwyn," he put forward, "if you're going to be forging yourself a new set of armor… my brother's a good choice to help you."

We both knew he wasn't talking about the metal you don when you ride into battle. "Re-forging," I said.

"Hmm?"

"I'm re-forging my armor, not making an entirely new set."

Vilkas cracked another smile. "Now you're thinking like a Nord."

"Don't insult me."

"A-ha! And so it begins!"


End file.
